


A Kiss a Day

by WordsInTimeAndSpace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Kisses, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22863265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsInTimeAndSpace/pseuds/WordsInTimeAndSpace
Summary: A collection of Ineffable Husbands Ficlets, written based on prompts in a kiss writing meme.Latest chapter: a kiss on the neck, a kiss as a distraction.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking some ineffable husbands kissing prompts on Tumblr, and I'm collecting them here. If you want to give me a prompt,  
> [have a look over here!](https://wordsintimeandspace.tumblr.com/post/190980350998/kiss-writing-meme)

**Prompts: a kiss on the wrist, a healing kiss.**

Crowley doesn’t like buses. He knows that Heaven takes credit for their invention - with public transport being environmentally friendly and all that - but there’s no way there aren’t any demonic influences there as well. Buses are always too late, or too early, are full of screaming children or weird smells and honestly, the space is just too cramped for someone with his long legs. It’s nothing compared to the comfort of the Bentley he is used to.

But the Bentley is gone, burned into a pile of molten metal and ash, and for once, Crowley doesn’t mind the bus. Not since Aziraphale sat down right next to him, and the blessed cramped space works in his advantage for once. Crowley is painfully aware of everywhere they touch - shoulders and arms brushing, thighs pressed together, calfs touching whenever he shifts in his seat. It’s more than they have touched in 6000 years, and yet the warmth of Aziraphale’s body feels natural, like a missing piece slotting into place, grounding him while everything else falls apart around them. Crowley thinks it might be the only thing stopping him from falling apart as well.

No matter how many times he lets the events of the day replay in his head, he always comes to the same conclusion: they are utterly, royally fucked. One does not defy both Heaven and Hell without repercussion, and he doesn’t expect any mercy from them at all. Through all this, he has always tried to keep Aziraphale safe, but now he’s at the end of his rope, and he doesn’t know what else to do to escape their employer’s wrath. He’s failed Aziraphale once, when the bookshop burned down, and the thought that he might do it again makes his breath stutter and his heart ache in his chest.

Suddenly, Aziraphale’s hand covers his. Crowley jumps, turning to meet Aziraphale’s concerned eyes.

“Are you alright, my dear?” the angel asks with a frown on his face. His voice is so unbearably gentle that tears burn in Crowley’s eyes.

“Sure,” he manages to get out.

“You’re shaking,” Aziraphale remarks. He gently lifts Crowley’s hand in his, and for a second Crowley dumbly stares down at their entwined fingers. Huh. The angel is right. He’s trembling, and he doesn’t know how to stop.

“It’s-” Crowley starts, but breaks off, sucking in a shaking breath. He shakes his head, not sure how to put the utter terror and desperation coursing through his veins into words. It feels too dark, too dangerous, to be let out into the world.

Aziraphale doesn’t speak, giving him time to gather his thoughts. Oh so gently, he lets his fingers explore Crowley’s hand. There are scratches all over Crowley’s palm, running down to his wrist, and Aziraphale softly traces every single one. They’re small, superficial things, but they mark his skin all the same. Crowley can’t remember where he got them - maybe in the fire in the bookshop, or in the car, or when he crumbled onto the harsh asphalt of the airfield. Given the day they had, he muses, he can be glad that these scratches are the only harm that has come to him. So far, at least. The thought sends another shudder through him as a whimper escapes his lips.

Aziraphale’s grip tightens on his hand, in a way that feels reassuring and protective and makes Crowley want to cry. Gently, Aziraphale lifts Crowley’s hand until he can press a kiss to his wrist. Crowley shudders again as soon as the angel’s lips brush his skin, but it is a different kind of shudder this time. A good kind of shudder. He can only watch with bated breath as Aziraphale’s kiss sends a miracle through his flesh, healing the scratches one by one. Aziraphale runs a finger over Crowley’s now smooth skin, obviously content with the result, and presses another kiss to his wrist. His lips linger just for a second before moving to Crowley’s palm, covering every single bit of newly healed skin, still tingling from the miracle. 

Every touch of his lips makes Crowley’s racing heart slow a beat, makes breathing a little bit easier, soothes the trembling still running through his body. When Aziraphale is done, lowering their still entwined hands into his lap, Crowley takes a deep breath. He suddenly feels less anxious than he had all day.

“I don’t know what to do,” he finally confesses, his voice raspy and desperate. “About Heaven and Hell. I don’t know how to keep you safe.”

“My darling,” Aziraphale starts softly, and oh, there is something in his twinkling eyes, in the slight curl of his lips, that fills Crowley with hope, “I think I have an idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Prompts: A kiss on the wrist, a soft kiss, a kiss as a distraction.**

Rain pattered against the windows of a bookshop in Soho. It was a particularly cold and windy November night, but inside, an angel and a demon were warm and comfortable.

Crowley and Aziraphale had retreated to the backroom a while ago, curled up together on the couch with more blankets and pillows than strictly necessary. Crowley was sprawled across Aziraphale’s lap, his eyes half closed as he dozed, while Aziraphale was reading. Quiet music drifted through the air, and Crowley thought it was all quite perfect - well, except for one thing.

Aziraphale had gently petted Crowley’s hair until a moment ago, but now he had gone utterly still. His hand still rested in his lap, right above Crowley’s head, but the angel was so engrossed in his book that Crowley wasn’t even sure he was still breathing.

With a frown, Crowley glowered up at the cover. Bloody Wilde. Still a menace, 120 years after his death. It didn’t matter how gorgeous the angel was like this - with his ridiculous glasses perched on his nose, eyes shining as he focused on the text in front of him - Crowley still wished he would focus on something else. Him, for example. Not that he could say it out loud. He knew he was clingy, and he knew that Aziraphale knew (not that the angel minded), but saying it out loud was something else entirely. That would be like admitting defeat, and Crowley was way above that. He had other measures to get the angel’s attention.

Crowley shifted in Aziraphale’s lap and craned his neck, and there it was: Aziraphale’s hand. His well manicured fingers rested on the soft wool of his trousers, and the sleeve of his shirt was pushed up just enough to reveal the smooth, delicate skin of Aziraphale’s wrist. Crowley still didn’t understand how the sight of the angel’s wrist could be so terribly tempting, but he’d long given up trying to make sense of it. Now that they were together and he could simply give in to the temptation, it seemed pointless to worry about it any longer. He could use that mental energy for more important tasks, like contemplating what he wanted to do to Aziraphale’s wrist right now.

He could suck on the skin, leaving a lovely pink mark behind, or bite, gently of course, with just the right amount of sting to send a shiver down the angel’s spine. But Crowley also knew that wasn’t necessary. No, it was enough to press a feather-light kiss to Aziraphale’s wrist, just the softest brush of lips against skin.

Crowley felt the angel’s pulse flutter under his lips, his heartbeat speeding up just a little bit, and suppressed a grin. Mission accomplished. For good measure, he pressed another kiss to Aziraphale’s wrist, just as softly as the previous one.

Paper rustled above him as Aziraphale set the book aside. “Are you trying to distract me?” Aziraphale asked, amused.

“Barely doing anything,” Crowley mumbled against his skin. “Not my fault if you let yourself be distracted by that.”

Aziraphale let out a huff that was more like a laugh. “You’re incorrigible.” Despite his complaint, he gave in to Crowley’s unspoken request. He cupped Crowley’s face with one hand, his thumb brushing gently over his cheek, while he moved his other hand back into Crowley’s hair. Crowley bit back a purr and leaned into his touch.

“Demon,” he mumbled as his eyes fluttered shut under Aziraphale’s ministrations. “Pretty sure that’s part of the job description. You signed up for this.”

Crowley didn’t need to open his eyes to know there was a sappy smile on the angel’s lips. It leaked out of his voice all the same, warm and soft, wrapping itself around Crowley like a blanket. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley smiled. It was all quite perfect indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more request in my inbox, but you're still welcome to send me another prompt (it might just take me a bit to write it).   
> [Check out the list on my tumblr!](https://wordsintimeandspace.tumblr.com/post/190980350998/kiss-writing-meme)


	3. Chapter 3

**Prompts: a kiss on the lips, a long kiss, kiss marks or lipstick stains.**

With screeching tyres, the Bentley came to a stop in front of the bookshop. Crowley checked the time on his phone, grinning as he caught sight of his reflection on the screen for a second. Oh, he couldn’t wait to see Aziraphale’s face. He jumped out of the car, smoothed down the hem of his dress, and sauntered to the entrance. The shop was already closed, but the door opened for him nevertheless. Crowley let himself into the familiar, cozy space, his heels clicking on the floor.

“Angel?” he called when there was no sign of Aziraphale between the shelves of books.

“Coming, my dear!” The angel’s voice rang from the floor above, and Crowley continued into the back, waiting by the staircase.

“I was just reshelving my Dickens collection and- oh.” Aziraphale stepped to the railing, looking down at Crowley, and stopped dead in his tracks. Crowley could feel his gaze wandering over him and grinned. A blush crept onto Aziraphale’s cheeks.

“Oh, Crowley, you look magnificent,” Aziraphale breathed out, voice full of wonder.

For their date tonight, Crowley had decided to present more feminine than he usually did. It had been a while since he’d done it, not since they had left the Dowlings, but it was still a familiar part of himself. It felt comfortable to slip back into it, like putting on a favourite jumper that had been forgotten in the back of a closet during a hot summer.

Now, loose curls fell around Crowley’s shoulders. He wore a black dress that reached his knees, the neckline dipping low to reveal a fair amount of his chest. Bright red lipstick painted his smirking lips, completing the look.

“Angel, you’re staring,” Crowley teased, his cheeks heating up, when Aziraphale didn’t move.

Aziraphale pulled himself out of his thoughts and slowly descended the stairs. “How could I not stare at you, you ridiculous demon?” he huffed, never taking his eyes off Crowley. There was something dark in his eyes, something hungry, that sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine. As soon as Aziraphale reached the last step of the stairs, he cupped Crowley’s face in his hands and brought his lips down to Crowley’s.

Crowley immediately wrapped his arms around the angel’s waist, pulling him closer, soaking up the angel’s warmth. Aziraphale was kissing him slowly and thoroughly, as if he wanted to spend an eternity exploring Crowley’s lips. Crowley might have let him, of course, but for tonight they already had plans.

With trouble, he managed to pull away, just enough to speak. “Angel. Aziraphale. We have a dinner reservation, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh, hush. Maybe I could skip dinner and go right to dessert. You look absolutely scrumptious, my darling.” Aziraphale’s breath ghosted over Crowley’s lips, and before he knew what was happening, they were kissing again. A whimper escaped Crowley’s throat as Aziraphale deepened the kiss, and for a while he let himself be wrapped up in the love pouring out of the angel, swept away by the sheer passion of the kiss. But when Aziraphale ran one hand down his neck, brushing his naked shoulder, Crowley abruptly came back to reality. He broke the kiss and stumbled a step back, raising his hands.

“No. Nope,” he managed to get out, his voice hoarse. “You’ve talked about this restaurant all week long, I’m not gonna make you miss your Beef Bourguignon. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Aziraphale let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine,” he huffed, smoothing down his waistcoat. “If you insist. But you’re being a horrible tease.”

Crowley grinned. “Oh, I know.” He laughed as he swept his gaze over Aziraphale before pulling him close another time. Gently, he brushed a finger over the angel’s reddened lips. He definitely had to touch up his lipstick, but that was worth it for this sight.

“You could’ve just asked if you wanted to borrow my lipstick. But that’s a good colour on you, angel,” he purred, and kissed Aziraphale one more time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Prompts: a kiss on the neck, a victory kiss, kiss marks or lipstick stains.**

The drive from the Ritz back to the bookshop was quiet. In a way, Crowley felt like all important things had already been said with their toast to the world. But at the same time, it felt like there was so much left unsaid that he didn’t know where to begin to put it into words. It didn’t help that Aziraphale was quiet as well, wringing his hands in restless anxiety in his lap as Crowley sped through the streets of London. He seemed so caught up in his fear over the bookshop that he didn’t even make a sound when Crowley rushed over a junction and needed a minor miracle to escape a lorry. 

Finally, he came to a stop in front of the bookshop. Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped in relief as he saw the outside unharmed.

“There. All’s still inside. Like I said, not a book burnt,” Crowley said quietly. Aziraphale let out a breath and gave him a hesitant smile.

“Looks like it,” he said, finally getting out of the car to let them inside.

As soon as Aziraphale stepped into the dim light of the shop, the last remaining bits of anxiety seemed to melt away. It was replaced by a pure, unadulterated joy that made Crowley’s heart skip a beat. The angel was breathtaking like this, radiating warmth and contentment and love as he moved further into the shop.

Aziraphale let his gaze wander over the room in awe, eyes gleaming, a soft smile on his lips. He slowly took in every single shelf and book, every single nook and cranny, as if he couldn’t believe it was all still there, right at his fingertips. And finally, his eyes met Crowley’s. The look of pure wonder and delight on his face didn’t cease - if anything, his eyes shone even brighter than before.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other. At some point one of them must have moved, spurring the other one into action as well, but Crowley could not tell who had made the first move. All he knew was that they suddenly met in the middle, arms encircling each other, holding each other close as if both of them were still terrified they might disappear any second now.

Aziraphale had wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist, holding him tight as he buried his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck. Crowley held him just as closely, his arms twined around Aziraphale’s shoulders, nose buried in his hair.

“We won,” Aziraphale finally said, voice shaking. Crowley shivered as his breath ghosted over his skin. “I can’t believe we actually won.”

“We did,” Crowley murmured.

“Our own side.” Agonizingly slow, Aziraphale pressed his lips to Crowley’s neck. For a second Crowley thought he might have imagined the fleeting touch, but Aziraphale did it again, kissing more firmly this time. Crowley let out a whimper. He feared his knees might give out any second now, but Aziraphale held him upright with such a casual display of angelic strength that it made Crowley’s head swim.

“No more Heaven and Hell,” Aziraphale continued between kisses to Crowley’s neck. “I won’t have to go to Italy to bless a vineyard tomorrow. You won’t be called to America to cause havoc on Times Square next week. It’s just us.”

“Yes,” Crowley rasped, throwing his head back to give Aziraphale better access to his skin. “I’m all yours, angel.” 

Crowley heard Aziraphale’s breath stutter at his words, but then the angel latched his lips onto Crowley’s skin and sucked hard, and Crowley lost every ability to pay attention to anything that wasn’t the angel’s mouth on him. He let out a high pitched sound from the back of his throat, something between a moan and a whimper. Aziraphale froze, as if he was abruptly brought back to reality.

“Ngk!” A noise of protest escaped Crowley’s lips as Aziraphale pulled back, just enough to see the purple mark he had sucked onto Crowley’s neck. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “Oh, darling, I apologize. I got carried away. Wait, let me just-”

“No!” Crowley caught Aziraphale’s hand before he could pull on the power to miracle the bruise away. “Leave it,” he said, breathlessly. “Please.”

Aziraphale met his eyes, the worry in his features replaced by confusion. “Crowley?”

Crowley let out a shaking breath, still clinging to the angel as if he never wanted to let go. “Like I said, I’m all yours,” he finally managed to get out. “And I want the whole blessed world to know.”

Aziraphale’s face softened as he reached out to brush his fingers over the mark. “I want that too,” he finally said, with a hint of something dark in his voice, something possessive, that sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine. Aziraphale smiled at the reaction, and finally pressed his lips back down to Crowley’s skin. Their own side, Crowley thought just before every coherent thought left his mind, was turning out even better than he could’ve ever imagined.


	5. Chapter 5

**Prompts: a kiss on the thigh, an angry kiss, covered with kisses.**

Even months after the nopocalypse, Crowley still struggles to wrap his head around all the things that changed since then. How good things have become, and how he doesn’t even mind that word anymore, not after a few months spend at the angel’s side.

For millennia, he’d had to keep Aziraphale at arm’s length, always careful with his affections, always holding back. Never touching, not really, except for the faintest brush of fingers or shoulders here and there. Never looking, not when anyone else - including Aziraphale - could see.

Now, he can touch as much as he wants, without fear of repercussion, while knowing that Aziraphale will welcome every single touch. He can cup the angel’s face while he kisses him, and gently guide him to lie down on the bed, and he can slowly but surely remove every single one of his ridiculous layers until Aziraphale is spread out beneath him, naked and glowing like the sun.

And he can look as much as he wants - he can stop himself right there, after finally taking off Aziraphale’s trousers, and take the time to let his eyes wander over the angel’s miraculous body. The strong arms, the round belly, the thick thighs, every inch of soft skin that is just begging to be touched.

That is exactly what he’s doing, one night at the bookshop: soaking in the view of the angel beneath him, contemplating how incredibly lucky he is, until Aziraphale squirms under his gaze and lets out a huff.

“Are you done staring, my dear?” he asks, just a hint of impatience in his voice.

Crowley grins, his fingertips moving in circles over Aziraphale’s naked thighs. “Nope. Never. Not in a million years.”

“I thought there were other things you had in mind for tonight.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of time for that later. For now, I’m enjoying the show,” Crowley drawls, his eyes wandering over Aziraphale’s body once more.

Aziraphale squirms again, but it is a different kind of squirm this time - not impatient anymore, but rather… uncomfortable? The change is subtle, but after 6000 years Crowley has long categorized every single one of Aziraphale’s motions. He raises his eyes towards Aziraphale’s face. The angel is staring at something past Crowley’s shoulder, not meeting his gaze.

“... unless you don’t want me to look at you?” Crowley asks hesitantly.

“Oh, it’s… it’s not that, my dear, but…” Aziraphale trails off.

“But?”

“I… I mean, I’m not much to look at, am I?”

Crowley can only stare at him. He’s heard the angel’s words, but not a single one of them makes any sense. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on Crowley,” Aziraphale huffs. “You know perfectly well that I’m not exactly meeting the beauty standards of this century.”

“Fuck beauty standards,” Crowley spits out. “Aziraphale, you’re the most gorgeous creature on this Earth. And all of Heaven and Hell as well.”

A blush rises on Aziraphale’s cheeks, flushing down to his chest. It only makes him even more gorgeous.

“You’re exaggerating, darling.”

“Am not,” Crowley continues, gentler this time. He draws his fingers over Aziraphale’s skin in a soothing motion as he frowns down at him. “What’s brought this on, angel? I thought you were comfortable, like this? In your corporation?”

“Oh, I am, usually. I like my body, most of the time. But sometimes… well, people say things.”

“Like what?” Crowley growls.

Aziraphale hesitates for a long moment, but finally speaks up. “Like… I should lose my gut.”

“What? No. Nonono. Angel. Aziraphale. That’s bullshit. You… you’re-” Crowley’s words fail him. He’s never been good at that, putting the chaos in his head into coherent sentences, but if he’s good at one thing it’s showing the angel how he’s feeling. He presses his lips to Aziraphale’s thigh, hoping to convey with this kiss just how much he loves Aziraphale, how much he adores his beautiful, perfect body. That someone would make him feel bad about it is nothing short of infuriating. It makes Crowley’s blood boil, makes him want to track down every single person who’s ever said something like that and rip their throats out.

Before he can stop himself, his anger is seeping into the kiss. The added teeth make Aziraphale yelp and Crowley pulls back with a start. “Sorry, I-”

“No, no,” Aziraphale rushes to say, the blush on his cheeks deepening. “Don’t apologize darling. You startled me, but that was... not entirely unpleasant.”

Crowley lets out a laugh, and presses his lips back down to Aziraphale’s skin. “I love every bit of your magnificent body, Aziraphale,” he mumbles as he presses one kiss after another to Aziraphale’s thighs. “And I will kiss every inch of skin if that’s what it takes for you to believe me.”

“Ohh.” Aziraphale squirms again, a good kind of squirm this time, and Crowley allows himself a grin.

“Well. Don’t let me stop you, darling,” Aziraphale finally says, and Crowley is more than happy to comply.


	6. Chapter 6

**Prompts: a kiss on the neck, a kiss as a distraction.**

There’s a sound, or maybe a movement, that pulls Crowley out of sleep. For a moment he doesn’t know where he is. His mind is slow and sluggish, sleep still threatening to pull him back under, dreams still lingering. He can’t remember what exactly he dreamt about. The images of it are long gone, but the feeling of it clings to his bones, sinks its teeth into his flesh and refuses to let him go. Crowley’s breath stutters. He can’t seem to move, can’t open his eyes. There’s only the overpowering feeling of falling, the swoop of his stomach and the panic creeping into every cell of his body, and then the darkness, the stink of sulfur, and the cold, biting into his skin-

A warm body slips into bed behind him. Arms wrap around his waist, lips are pressed to his neck in a kiss, distracting him from everything else. Crowley lets out a shuddering breath and breathes in again, slowly this time. The stink of sulfur is gone. Instead he is wrapped up in Aziraphale’s scent. He would recognize it anywhere, the scent of old paper and fine wool and sweet tea. The scent of home.

“Are you alright, my darling?” Aziraphale whispers against his skin, tightening his hold around Crowley’s trembling body.

Crowley finally manages to crack his eyes open, blinking against the first beams of sunlight dancing over his face. Aziraphale’s presence and the grounding touch of his lips to his neck are already enough to chase away the lingering dreams, but it’s still reassuring to take in the sight of the bedroom. _Their_ bedroom, in _their_ cottage, where they live and laugh and kiss, all of it together, and Aziraphale is always there to catch him when he falls.

“Yeah,” Crowley finally manages to say, taking Aziraphale’s hand that rests over his chest to bring it to his lips. “I’m good.”

“I’m glad,” Aziraphale murmurs, pressing another kiss to Crowley’s neck. Crowley stretches his stiff limbs under the blanket, craning his neck to give the angel better access. “There’s coffee brewing and bread in the oven if you feel up for breakfast.”

Crowley hums absently, his mind hazy again, but in a good way this time - thoughts calmed by soft touches and tender kisses instead of being paralysed by dreadful dreams. “In a minute,” he mumbles. “Unless you want to get up?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aziraphale says, pressing closer to Crowley, cocooning him in his warmth.

Crowley relishes the feeling, the way it makes him feel safe, makes him feel cared for. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says with a smile, letting his eyes slip closed one more time.


End file.
